


the divine comedy

by gothwyfe



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by a Mitski Song, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Prose Poem, Purple Prose, dante was NOT involved in the creation of this fic, its not all sad ! yes it is, you can really tell the author has a shit pile of issues with this one yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29523297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothwyfe/pseuds/gothwyfe
Summary: did I ever exist outside of you?-“We’ll make it work,” he lies. And he burns.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	the divine comedy

There are two lovers, on this beach,  _ here _ . 

They lay, on the soft white sand, intertwined as though to pull one another into each. The soft breeze blows over their skin, kicking up granules as though to rouse them from their gentle sleep. They pay it no mind. 

This is forever, they promise in their sleep. We are two lovers, destined to be  _ here-  _ and  _ here  _ is with you.

Perhaps, fate is something predetermined, by some force or god in the great big sky. That fate has led them here, forever to be within one another, as the Greek legend of their missing halves. 

Perhaps fate is just some fluffy word for a coincidence- and their path was made of their own volition. They had forged their way through this world, fire, and brimstone, on their own- and love is the way they never let go of the other’s hand.

Perhaps it’s all an idea that we cannot comprehend,  _ here  _ and today. The way we are now. Something that only two lovers, entwined on a beach, can understand. 

It does not matter. 

There are two lovers, on this beach,  _ here _ .

-

It goes like this; Iwaizumi Hajime is five years old, and he is the older of two sons. He has two moms, and they love each other, and love him and his baby brother. 

They move into Miyagi because of mama’s work, and they buy a pretty little house with a pretty little lawn. Hajime loves it because there is a blue, glittering lake nearby, and he’s going to catch so many frogs for mama. 

He runs up, and he is promised the bigger room- so he must lay claim before Mom manages to wrestle him into any other scam. He slams the window open with a yell.

There is something special, here.

Miyagi smells different. It’s new. It smells like… a promise. It smells like a fresh, organic beginning. It smells like… milk bread. 

Milk bread?!

Hajime’s eyes snap open, and he glances down- down, where a pale boy, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, looks curiously up at him. 

“ _ Waah _ ,” he says, words bright and sound. “Hi!”

Hajime’s brow furrows. “Hi,” he mumbles. “You’re on my lawn.” 

“Yeah!” the boy replies. “This’s the best dirt to play in.”

“Wait,” Hajime leans out the window, interested. “ _ Really? _ ” 

The boy nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! I made a  _ buncha _ potions yesterday.” 

“Stay there!” Hajime yells excitedly. He thunders down the steps, running out the front door barefoot. 

“Hi!” The boy says again, taking another nibble of his bread. He is barefoot too- the best way to cast spellwork, of course. He seems to have good taste. 

“We need to make a magic to protect this house from pirates,” Hajime says seriously. 

The boy’s eyes widen comically. “Pirates?!” He gasps. 

Hajime glances around conspiratorially, and leans in to whisper, “they followed me from Okinawa.” This is true.

The boy nearly drops his bread. “Okinawa-nian pirates!?” he fixes him with a serious stare. “We can only have the  _ best _ spells, then.”

Hajime responds with a curt nod. It’s time to get to work.

“So what’s your name pirate-fighter-magic-person?” The boy says, mouth stuffed with bread. 

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Hajime proclaims, drawing himself up straight and proud. “You?” He leans down to collect some soil, squeezing it together into a tower. 

“I’m Oikawa Tooru.” The boy offers his hand- but seems to second-think it, pulling away to stick his hand into a bush and grab a stick. “ _ I’ll _ direct you, Iwa-chan.” 

“Iwa-chan?!” Hajime grumbles, waddling over to grab a cup of water from the fountain. “ _ Don’t _ call me that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Why?” 

“Why not?” 

“Stupidkawa.” Hajime snorts, plopping down. “I bet I can make a better spell than you.” 

Oikawa sticks his tongue out, crashing down into the dirt as well. “You won’t beat me, Iwa-chan.” He says, determination shining through his brown eyes. 

There are no pirates, that day.

-

There is a fourth idea, to all this- destinies, fate. Bullshit, as some would eloquently put it. 

Perhaps, this  _ love _ \- it exists outside of fate. Perhaps we were never meant for it. 

The first angel, after all, was thrown from heaven despite his father’s love. The first man hurt his first woman. The first brother scorned his first sibling. 

After all, what good is its use? Love starts wars, breaks hearts, murders innocents, and pillages youth. Perhaps we created love, a concept, to hurt more. A hopeless violence. An endless curse. 

For what do lovers do, but  _ hurt _ ?

-

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, soft under the pale moonlight. “You haven’t kissed anyone yet, right?” 

“No,” Hajime furrows his nose. They are well into their third year of middle school- probably around the time, all the other boys have tried pursuing various pretty girls, in hopes of losing a taste of that innocence. He has no interest in this, not really- never has. 

“Oh,” Tooru says, small. “I have.” 

“I know.” Everyone knew, actually, when Tooru came bursting through the locker room doors, clutching a box of chocolates and proclaiming he’s found the end of his red string of fate- ending in a very public breakup, a thirteen-year-old Maeko bursting into tears after Tooru bought her cookies she was allergic to. He had never actually loved her after all, she sobbed, in the two weeks, they’d been together. 

“Yours was  _ lame _ anyway,” Hajime grumbles, nudging Tooru’s leg with his own. “Hey, isn’t that Andromeda?” 

Tooru gasps in delight, following the line of Hajime’s finger pointing up at the heavens. His eyes twinkle like the stars grinning down on them. Hajime’s heart flutters. 

“Wow,” Tooru exclaims. “It’s so pretty, right, Iwa-chan?” 

Hajime nods excitedly with him. Stars are nice, he supposes. The sky is cool and all. Tooru always liked it more than him. But still. 

Still. 

Tooru leans back onto the soft grass, bathed with the pale glow of the moon. Tooru’s hair is always soft, he washes it with a mountain of product- yet, when he is with him, Tooru pays no mind to the dirt and grime that accumulates. 

Hajime puts his arms around his neck, craning for a better view. Tooru wrinkles his nose. “You’re stinky,” 

“Your mom is stinky,” Hajime retorts. 

“Ooh,” Tooru teases. “I’m gonna tell her you said that. I’m gonna tell her and she’ll never let you over again.” 

“Yeah, right,” Hajime scoffs, ignoring the way his heart twists painfully at the very thought. “Who’s gonna bail your stupid ass out then?” 

Tooru rolls his eyes, blowing a wet raspberry at Hajime. Still so pretty. Still. “So mean, Iwa-chan,” 

“So mean, Iwa-chan,” Hajime mocks, raising his eyebrows in retort. Tooru gasps, offended, and he’s not fast enough to avoid the other’s heavy tackle. Tooru should check out rugby if this whole volleyball thing never works- he’d be great at it. 

They collapse in giggles, breathless. Together at this moment.

Tooru stares at him, illuminated under the stars. He leans forward, and his eyes flutter shut as he presses a soft kiss upon Hajime’s lips- whose eyes stay open. Tooru’s lips are cold, just like his feet. They are chapped, bitten with regret and anxiety. Hajime’s blood courses through his veins- he’s never felt so fragile. Like ice upon the outside of a flower, dewy morning mist frozen. 

“What was that for?” Hajime says when Tooru pulls away. 

Tooru smiles. “I’m your first kiss, now,” he says. His brown eyes are glassy, almost, the way they shone when Tobio got subbed in during the third set. Hajime’s hand reaches out, he pushes a stray tear from the other's eye. 

“Okay.” He whispers. Tooru’s hands snake around his own, calluses rubbing against his smooth knuckles. 

Tooru smiles, bitten lips cracking to show a bead of blood. “Okay.” 

-

Now, can I ask you- is it worth it? The pain, the promise, the woeful ignorance at each’s breaking point- is it worth it?

Love, love, love love love. You cut at me so, jagged blades upon soft skin, ripping, ripping, ripping. Why are you so? 

We have two lovers, on a beach. Tomorrow, they may be engaged. Yesterday, they had been fighting. A year from now, they may marry. A year ago, they’d yet to meet. 

If we are predestined, some cosmic, divine comedy five thousand years in the making, was I ever my own? Was I ever meant to exist outside of you? 

If the answer is no; what is it for, then? 

And if the answer is yes; 

if the answer is yes, 

then,

-

Every time Tooru cries, Hajime feels his earth shatter- fracturing around him like broken, stained glass, dusting the antique walls of a broken home. 

“ _ Baby _ ,” he mutters, tears pricking at his own eyes. “Don’t do that, no, Don’t do that,” Hajime is nothing if not a sympathy crier. 

He rubs a slow circle over Tooru’s cheek, gathering up the loose tears with his thumb, pressing them away, gentle. “Don’t do that,” he chokes. 

Tooru’s knee throbs and Hajime feels his life flash before him. Should it hurt him this much? Should Tooru be able to hurt him like this, with nothing but his own pain? 

“It’s  _ nothing _ ,” Tooru murmurs, wiping away snot with the back of his hand. “Nothing- I just- you know,” and his lips curl back over his teeth like a wolf baring its growl.

“That,” Hajime coughs, leaning down to press his forehead against Tooru’s, closer,  _ together _ . “Don’t do that,” he says. “Pretend that nothing is-“ 

“It’s stupid,” Tooru cuts in before Hajime can finish- because he can never wait, can never actually hide from Hajime what eats at him, gnaws at his soul, leaves him naked and bare. “It- It’s stupid,” 

“Baby,” Hajime whispers, hands feather-light against his bones. Let us lay here, bared bone. “Nothing that makes you cry is stupid,” and he’s been crying with him and it pours down his cheeks in rivulets.

Tooru’s face pinkens, and his eyes turn glassy. “I-“ 

“ _ Nothing _ .” Do you hear me? Do you understand? 

Tooru watches him, his brain moving as he watches Hajime, processing and cataloging his every move like the machine he can be. His mouth wobbles- like the human he can be. 

Hajime’s hand moves down his arm, firm, and tender, before taking Tooru’s hand in his own and pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles, one after another. His blood feels brittle, his mind is melted. There is nothing in this world but the two of them, and they ache, god, they ache. 

-

There is  _ us _ , and in  _ us _ , there is  _ you _ , and  _ me _ . But  _ you _ and  _ me _ ,  _ you _ and  _ me _ only exist in  _ us _ . Get it? 

If we are fated, if we are destined, there is no  _ me _ . Because  _ me _ has always existed for  _ you _ , and if that is true then what have I ever been good for, if not for  _ you _ . 

In a world with no  _ us _ , what am I ever to be? 

So yes. If that is true, then it's been over from the start. I can’t exist without you, and you must exist without me. It was never meant to work, it was always you versus me, in  _ us _ . How was I ever meant to help you? You let me go before I ever even knew. 

There are two lovers, on this beach,  _ here _ . Tomorrow, one of them set this beach on fire. 

-

“Argentina?” Hajime croaks, smoothing the paper out with his hands. “All the way…” his throat feels dry, and suddenly, the metal chair is too stiff and the room is too large. “That’s,” he looks up at Tooru, whose eyes are hidden under his hair. “That’s what, sixteen time zones?” he mutters. 

Tooru says nothing. 

“We,” Hajime licks his lips, feverishly repeating his mantra to always support, never secede. “I’m proud of you,” he chokes out, words burning on his tongue. “You’re so- I’m so,” 

_ ‘I’m so terrified.’  _ He wants to say. What does this mean for them? For us? Hajime has never known a life without Tooru- and vice versa. It’s… unthinkable.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru finally says, voice breaking. “I’m-“ 

“No!” Hajime bursts, Tooru’s head finally snapping up to show a bright sheen on his eyes. “Don’t say anything.” 

Tooru’s eyebrows knit together. 

“Let’s be happy about this,” Hajime says, and he  _ burns _ . “This,” his heart is beating in his skull, bile rising to his throat. “This is so good for you.  _ So _ good.”

He can imagine it now, how he must look to an outsider. His body is slowly filling with hot air, burning him, and he’s a balloon ready to burst.

This hurts. 

Hajime pulls Tooru closer, pushing their chests together and wrapping him in a tight hug like if he never lets go he’ll never lose this. “Let’s be happy,” he repeats. Tooru sniffles into his neck. 

“I could stay,” he says softly. “I could make it here too, I know I  _ could _ ,” 

Tooru could stay. Very easily, they could go to Tokyo together, and it’d be the two of them again, the two of them against the world. Hajime would come back from ochem exhausted, Tooru would leave his dirty socks everywhere. Hajime would cook, and Tooru would clean. The curse of domesticity would take them, and he would never even be mad about it. 

That’s always what he wanted, truthfully. More than winning, more than recognition, more than satisfaction. It’s the perfect recipe for disaster, the two of them- a cursed family man, all weekly dinner dates and lunch with the kids, and a man taken by the world of stardom, always ready for more, for his name to be plastered across billboards. 

And it’s at that moment Hajime decides he’s ready to miss him. 

“Shh,” Hajime soothes, burying the stinging tears into Tooru’s collar. “We’ll make it work.” 

He lies. And he burns. 

  
  


-

So. That leaves me here. 

Without you.

And in a way, without  _ you _ , there is no me.

-

It’s a silent breakup. They barely even say it- just an acknowledgment in the meeting of their eyes three months into this disaster, while the sun just barely shines above the horizon behind Hajime and the moon reflects off the shiny brown curls of Tooru’s hair. It looks soft- what he would give for that privilege, to be able to reach a hand out and touch it just once more. 

Hajime tries to move on. You don’t meet the love of your life at five years old, and you certainly don’t lose them at just eighteen. There has to be more than this. Right?

Right?

So he goes to work, he goes to school, he comes home, and he ponders. Ponders why he let himself hurt so bad, ponders what let him hurt so bad. 

Thinks about how Tooru’s doing an ocean away. Thinks about if he’s eating enough, sleeping enough. Thinks about if he ever learned to take a break, from his worthless pride, and his endless ambition. Thinks about if  _ he  _ thinks about him.

What’s it like to love someone who can’t love you enough? What’s it like to fall in love when you know you’re always going to lose? 

There was a day- years ago when Tooru promised him he’d be the best there ever was. Covered in dirt, laughing in the hot sun, Hajime had shoved him and said his mom would be the best there ever was. 

That was the end, wasn’t it? Soft, sweet, bitten promises of forever were just a lie. Fate, destiny- intertwined lovers and all that fucking bullshit. 

He’d never be enough for Tooru- and in that line, Tooru would never settle enough for him. Either this was fate’s cruel joke, or they truly were the perfect match- forever orbiting one another, two dumb teenagers prostrated at the feet of some idea of success. 

He misses him. Simple and bare- that’s it. 

_ I miss you.  _

-

There are two lovers, on this beach, here. 

One of them left, kicking up sand as he ran. The other sat and watched. 

But this beach, it is endless, you see. You run and run forever, and you find others, just like you, looking for their reason, and you find an ice cream truck and an aimless horse. But you never find the end. 

This is forever, they had promised in their sleep. This fate, this destiny, this bullshit. This anger, this love, this violence, this curse. It’s with you. 

It does not matter. It’s not a you and me, and it’s not an  _ us _ . It’s you  _ with  _ me. 

The answer… the answer is for you to decide. Is it worth it, if it’s with you? Is it worth it, even if my heart aches where your hand isn’t, even if my arms are sore days and days they dare not to rest upon you? 

There are two lovers, on this beach.

-

“I never thought you’d leave Japan,” Tooru chuckles. The golden California sun twinkles over them, bathing them in the radiant glow. They sit shielded, just barely, under an umbrella in a froyo store. Of all places, they’d meet again. 

“I thought so too,” Hajime answers. “But Nakamura-san recommended me, sent me a pamphlet and all, and I just…  _ went _ for it, you know?” 

“Wow, Iwa-chan,” Tooru drawls, leaning forward, and even after all this time, the nickname stirs something in his traitorous chest. “That’s a first, you just going for something?” 

Hajime crosses his arms. “I see you’re still the shitty guy you always were,  _ Crappykawa _ ,” he replies, rolling his eyes dutifully. Tooru moves forward an inch more, and Hajime catches his eye- sharp and bright. 

It’s silly to think he’d ever move on completely- that he’d never see those chocolate brown eyes again, analyzing every movement he made like some kind of robot. It was silly to think he’d ever want to. 

_ Perhaps I don’t exist outside of you. But perhaps it’s just because I never wanted to.  _

Hajime clears his throat, tearing his eyes away. “So,” he rasps. “How have you been?” 

Tooru smiles again, lighter now. “Small talk, small talk,” he says, all the air of an asshole but none of the  _ bite _ . “I’ve been good, yeah! Finally starting in the Argentinian league, after all that.” He says, and Hajime glows with pride. Of course, he would. 

“I’m proud of you,” he says, words spilling past his lips before he could shove them back in, to choke on regrets later. 

Tooru stares at him, eyebrow twitching. 

Oh. He’s overstepped. 

But Tooru’s eyes mist over, and his voice is hoarse when he replies. “That’s what you said to me before, Iwa-chan,” he whispers. “Before we-”

He doesn’t need to finish. He knows. 

“What happened to us?” 

Hajime stares off at the space behind Tooru’s head. He’s twenty-two years old, now, all well and grown- close to completing a degree Americans take four years on. He’s twenty-two and he still has no idea what to do with the best friend, his friend, he’s had since he was just barely old enough to use the potty alone. 

Hajime’s hands shake as he reaches out, taking Tooru’s in his own. 

It feels different- before, when Tooru was always cold, always callused and worn, he is fairly used, and warm. He seems to radiate like the sun shining above them. It’s different. It’s nice. 

“The beach is just a ten-minute walk,” he finds himself saying. “Let’s head down there, for a bit?”

**Author's Note:**

> yikes can you tell i wrote half of this h*gh as fuck and crying
> 
> anyways. i really love to think about how a relationship would work between people that just don't see eye to eye with what they want, but are too in love to do anything about it. this especially rings true in hq- and even more with these two, because iwa is def someone that needs to settle, vs oikawa who Physically Cannot. hope I didn't make oikawa seem like a villain here. that wasn't my intention- i just found it easier to take on iwas POV.
> 
> brrr come visit  
> twt: @tanakaasaeko


End file.
